


Hemophilia

by AgateFaun



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgateFaun/pseuds/AgateFaun
Summary: Muriel’s allowed someone new into his soft heart. Someone with a sweet smile and pretty blue eyes, and they’ve come to love eachother dearly. But it seems Muriel can’t be allowed joy for long. He’s about to find out just how fragile his soft beloved is.





	1. Agony

**Author's Note:**

> Muri’s not in the first chapter just yet, but he’s on his way!

A ringing filled Faravel’s ears, and a rotting stench filled his nose. Haze prevented his vision for what felt like an hour before his eyes slowly focused on something glimmering and red... A... Beetle? A beetle... He slowly became aware that it was moving. Not crawling as it should, simply shifting above him. Gradually more emerged from the fog that dogged him, and he found himself staring into a set of nearly reptilian red eyes. A face covered at the lower half by a white mask. A white doctor’s coat...

”There you are. It took you longer than it should have for you to wake back up. At least longer than it would have taken another. Noted.” Valdemar’s steepled fingers flexed as they snatched up a surgical implement, and examined their subject again.

A tidal wave of absolute agony crashed over Faravel, choking any noise he might have made and leaving his head spinning. A strangled scream broke from his cracked lips and the reality of the situation he was in came flooding back to him. He was in a dungeon. Restrained. Bound to a table and stripped bare in the oppressive atmosphere of the heavy hanging air. This doctor- were they a doctor? Did doctors do such awful things? -Had taken a sickening variety of sharp implements to his pale skin, testing his tolerance for pain. He'd fainted. It wasn't the first time he’d done so. When he first woke, this doctor had voiced their curiosity that the wound inflicted upon his capture had failed to stop bleeding within the average time. Some anomaly with his blood. He couldn't remember what it was called. Did it matter? He was being tortured, to see if the location of a wound had any bearing on his blood’s inability to clot. A shiver ran through his frigid body... Fara wasn't sure if he’d ever been so cold...

”It’s terrible, isn't it? I've been cutting into gradually more sensitive locations, and of course, you’ve lost consciousness with increasing frequency. It's a pity about the deadline, or I’d be able to let you rest and you might last for more experimentation. As it is, you’ll likely lose too much blood and perish within the hour.” They plucked a wickedly curved tool from a tray, raising it while calculating just where to begin their next round of tests. “But then the vivisection will be over, and I’ll begin the dissection.”

Dread settled in the petite young man’s belly, and his nose stung. But he didn't cry. Perhaps he couldn't anymore. His eyes felt swollen as if he already had wept... Undoubtedly more than once. Faravel would die here. Without his brother and without... Muriel. Without Muriel. The memory of the heady scent of Myrrh blotted out the smell of rot around him, and a rapid flutter burst in Faravel’s heart. Muriel could find him. Muriel could do anything. He would find Fara, he would take him home, back to the hut. The brief spark of hope was extinguished as the memory of myrrh was overcome with blinding pain and he felt a scream tear from his raw throat. He was to die here.

Valdemar watched as the pretty youth’s body shuddered a final time before his consciousness lapsed again. They let his blood drip to run down the drain, they’d collected more than enough from earlier work.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Valdy

      The searing pain in his thigh made him want to scream, but he couldn’t. Not for lack of trying, but Faravel had screamed his throat raw. All that came out was a quiet rasp as his body jolted involuntarily against the restraints. He was trying so, so hard to stay awake but he knew he wouldn’t manage much longer. How long would it take him to die after he lost consciousness again? 

Distantly, as though from across a wide field, Fara heard some sort of racket and a comment from his tormentor that he couldn’t make out. The edges of his vision were turning black, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they took over the seemingly horned figure. When suddenly it... appeared they simply weren’t there anymore. And then he felt warm, shaking hands on the restraints at his ankles, fumbling to separate the straps from his rubbed raw to bleeding skin. And then they came to his wrists. Faravel managed the immense effort it took to refocus his eyes, up. At whoever those hands belonged to. He saw a strong chest bent over him to free his other wrist, and then short uneven black hair as they sat back. He knew those hands, he knew those eyes. “M-m-ur-i-“

Every sound was agony scraping from his throat, but Muri, his Muriel was here. Fara had to tell him he was okay. But the field of black vision had nearby completed itself, and his lips refused to work any longer.

Muriel’s hands shook as he pressed them down on the bleeding slice in Faravel’s thigh. He wouldn’t stop _bleeding_. “Asra!” _Some_ healing magic was at his disposal, but few lone magicians could manage such severe injuries. Muriel’s eyes shot to Fara’s face as the dying young man struggled to speak. Muriel felt his eyes and nose sting and his throat tighten, and he pressed down harder on the wound that was rapidly becoming almost too slick with blood to keep a grip on.

With Julian close behind, Asra returned from the well sort of structure at the back of the room. They’d thrown Valdemar into their own well of beetles. Asra hastily hopped onto the raised platform, bringing his hands up to help heal the grievous injuries that stung his nose with the smell of blood. “We’ll save him, Muriel. They won’t take him away from you.” He watched as the blue eyes of his friend rolled backward and fluttered shut, and Asra channeled more magic into his healing.

Julian ignored his own bleeding chest wound, made from landing on Valdemar’s scalpel when he tackled them, and scrambled for medical supplies. Bandages, towels, anything that would help stop the bleeding and keep the wounds bound. He worked alongside Asra and Muriel with shared, singleminded determination.

None of them knew how long they’d worked, before they were finally cleaning away the blood instead of stifling it. They’d stopped the bleeding, and wound bandages around what must have been most of Faravel’s body to bind the injuries that remained. The three of them cleaned up as best they could, and Julian retrieved the blanket from the cot in his office, holding it out to Muriel.

Muriel said nothing as he took it and _so_ gingerly lifted and wrapped Faravel in it to cover him and hopefully return some warmth to the snow-pale skin. He cradled the delicate form to his chest, following the other two when they moved to leave. He didn’t catch what they said, didn’t care right now. They were leaving, taking Faravel somewhere safe. Muriel would return to his career of execution before he let someone touch Faravel again.


End file.
